When they grow up, when they can understand the depth of offering their lives for a shared dream, the little ones who in this fatal January had their fathers' embrace cut short by the murderous claw of the empire will no longer believe in superheroes with capes and supernatural powers, but in the fierceness of being on the front line, because it is an honor and a duty not to betray our America.
The promise of "seeing each other again," mortally wounded by lead; the coffee that will not be brought to them in the mornings; the empty chair at family meals; the photo of the children in which they will not appear; the message of "I'm fine" that never arrived... these are longings that have been cut short, forever, in the hearts of 32 families on this island.
Children, parents, siblings, spouses, friends: courageous men whose lives were torn away, hurt today throughout an entire country. The national flag at half-mast spoke not only of the mourning shared by loved ones, but also of millions of Cubans who know they are present, in survival.
Thirty-two lions of Martí's lineage. Thirty-two reasons why we cannot be indifferent to the imperialist boot on our American soil. Thirty-two reasons as a permanent reminder of the ferocity with which, at point-blank range, those men defended a cause, regardless of numerical superiority. Thirty-two truths so that we do not allow history to repeat itself on this land.
Other, less atrocious Januaries will come, life will continue its course, because that is how it should be. Then, if the losses and pain are transmuted into collective consciousness, into the certainty that America—the one that must be protected from foreign greed—is more than a geographical collection of countries, the choice of the 32 will have been worth it: to stand on the yoke, holding "the star that illuminates and kills."
